INIS MOR, IRELAND
June-July 2017
THE boat glided smoothly across the water towards the largest of the Aran Islands, Inis Mor. The wanderer stood on the deck of the boat, enjoying the fresh air and the calm gray landscape passing by.
Little did she know she would face her biggest challenge yet on this Irish island.
THE bike was woefully uncomfortable, but she thought that was simply because she hadn't properly ridden one since she was a child. If only she'd known the bike was too big for her, the poor girl.
The girl proved the exception to the rule that you never forget how to ride a bike. Simply getting the bike going was a struggle in itself. Once she finally began pedaling, steering proved to be another problem. She wobbled and swerved and even bumped into another biker. Quickly she fell to the back of the pack, straggling behind the forty-something other students who were a part of this school field trip.
And then came the hills.
Attempting to ride up the hills on her too-big bike that she didn't know was too big for her was a challenge unlike any the girl had experienced. Her legs ached and burned as she tried to keep on pedaling. She couldn't truly enjoy the beautiful scenery she passed on the route. She focused all of her quickly draining energy on pedaling, pedaling, pedaling. But her legs couldn't take the continual pedaling on the too-big bike over the hills, and the girl found she had to hop off and slowly trudge her way, dragging her hated bike beside her, up most of the hills.
Thankfully, she was never alone. An incredibly kind Irish lady stayed behind her with her family, offering her words of encouragement and support as the girl struggled like she never had before. She even let the girl borrow a pair of binoculars she'd brought when they all stopped for a seal-spotting break. (Unfortunately, the girl spotted no seals, but she couldn't be disappointed; she was far too relieved to have a break from her struggle with her bike.)
The kindness and friendliness of the Irish that the girl witnessed and experienced again and again during her time in Ireland will stay with her always.
Finally, finally the girl straggled her way to the rest of the group. She found her companions at a cafe and, utterly exhausted, plopped into a chair at their table. She munched on an apple her host-lady had given her for lunch; she was in no way up for a proper meal, after her ordeal.
She managed to revive and forget about her cycling struggles at Dún Aonghasa, the ruins of a hill fort on a cliff. The girl lowered herself onto her stomach and peered over the edge of the cliff, a sheer drop of a few hundred feet to the sea. It was completely mad. "Bloody hell," were the only words she could find to say when she had climbed back onto her two feet, and safely away from the cliff edge, once more.
ON the way back, the girl, on a whim, swapped her bike for a different model, and thank goodness! She suddenly could actually ride her bike! It no longer was an incredible struggle to pedal and pedal! The ride back was positively blissful compared with the former ride. (Though she still was by no means a good bicyclist: Still steering was an uneasy business, still pedaling was sometimes quite difficult and she wasn't very fast, and still she had to walk up the steeper hills.) But she was finally able to enjoy herself on a bike!
She and her companions stopped at a beach along the way, where they wandered for a bit, watched a mad person jump into the cold waves, and heard a young boy declare to the world, "I'm the king of Ireland!" Once they'd made their way back to the town center, they visited a couple of sweater shops, returned their bikes (the girl was incredibly happy to part with her bike), and jumped in a restaurant. They were running out of time, so they quickly ordered their things to go, left their money on the table once they'd got their order, and rushed back to the docks.
On the way back the wanderer sat on the second level of the boat eating from her cup of vegetable coup and bag of chips (fries).
Quite frankly, it was a miracle she survived the day without serious injury.
It was the luck of the Irish, she supposed.
THE boat glided smoothly across the water towards the largest of the Aran Islands, Inis Mor. The wanderer stood on the deck of the boat, enjoying the fresh air and the calm gray landscape passing by.
Little did she know she would face her biggest challenge yet on this Irish island.
THE bike was woefully uncomfortable, but she thought that was simply because she hadn't properly ridden one since she was a child. If only she'd known the bike was too big for her, the poor girl.
The girl proved the exception to the rule that you never forget how to ride a bike. Simply getting the bike going was a struggle in itself. Once she finally began pedaling, steering proved to be another problem. She wobbled and swerved and even bumped into another biker. Quickly she fell to the back of the pack, straggling behind the forty-something other students who were a part of this school field trip.
And then came the hills.
Attempting to ride up the hills on her too-big bike that she didn't know was too big for her was a challenge unlike any the girl had experienced. Her legs ached and burned as she tried to keep on pedaling. She couldn't truly enjoy the beautiful scenery she passed on the route. She focused all of her quickly draining energy on pedaling, pedaling, pedaling. But her legs couldn't take the continual pedaling on the too-big bike over the hills, and the girl found she had to hop off and slowly trudge her way, dragging her hated bike beside her, up most of the hills.
Thankfully, she was never alone. An incredibly kind Irish lady stayed behind her with her family, offering her words of encouragement and support as the girl struggled like she never had before. She even let the girl borrow a pair of binoculars she'd brought when they all stopped for a seal-spotting break. (Unfortunately, the girl spotted no seals, but she couldn't be disappointed; she was far too relieved to have a break from her struggle with her bike.)
The kindness and friendliness of the Irish that the girl witnessed and experienced again and again during her time in Ireland will stay with her always.
Finally, finally the girl straggled her way to the rest of the group. She found her companions at a cafe and, utterly exhausted, plopped into a chair at their table. She munched on an apple her host-lady had given her for lunch; she was in no way up for a proper meal, after her ordeal.
She managed to revive and forget about her cycling struggles at Dún Aonghasa, the ruins of a hill fort on a cliff. The girl lowered herself onto her stomach and peered over the edge of the cliff, a sheer drop of a few hundred feet to the sea. It was completely mad. "Bloody hell," were the only words she could find to say when she had climbed back onto her two feet, and safely away from the cliff edge, once more.
ON the way back, the girl, on a whim, swapped her bike for a different model, and thank goodness! She suddenly could actually ride her bike! It no longer was an incredible struggle to pedal and pedal! The ride back was positively blissful compared with the former ride. (Though she still was by no means a good bicyclist: Still steering was an uneasy business, still pedaling was sometimes quite difficult and she wasn't very fast, and still she had to walk up the steeper hills.) But she was finally able to enjoy herself on a bike!
She and her companions stopped at a beach along the way, where they wandered for a bit, watched a mad person jump into the cold waves, and heard a young boy declare to the world, "I'm the king of Ireland!" Once they'd made their way back to the town center, they visited a couple of sweater shops, returned their bikes (the girl was incredibly happy to part with her bike), and jumped in a restaurant. They were running out of time, so they quickly ordered their things to go, left their money on the table once they'd got their order, and rushed back to the docks.
On the way back the wanderer sat on the second level of the boat eating from her cup of vegetable coup and bag of chips (fries).
Quite frankly, it was a miracle she survived the day without serious injury.
It was the luck of the Irish, she supposed.
Comments
Post a Comment